


worse than nicotine

by hjork



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Cigarettes, I was listening to Nicotine and got an itch of inspiration, I'm apologizing in advance, Inspired by Panic! at the Disco, Interrogation, M/M, Smoking, Spies & Secret Agents, Torture, nicotine, owen's boss is a bitch and gave up on him, set before the events of SAF, so curt has to take matters into his own hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjork/pseuds/hjork
Summary: When Owen is captured by a domestic terrorist group and held for weeks, all he can think about is having another smoke and seeing Curt again.set before the events of SAF
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	worse than nicotine

Owen spluttered awake to a bucket of freezing water being dumped on his head.

“Nap time’s over, pretty boy.”

He was roughly hauled up and dragged out of his cell. He stumbled to catch his footing, wiping the water from his face and his bangs out of his eyes. His hair was a mop-like mess, matted together by fluids he cared not to discuss.

His fingers brushed a tender bump on his forehead, and he winced. That’s why he’d been asleep. The last thing he’d seen was the butt of a pistol coming for his head.

They forced him into a chair and cuffed him down.

The only source of light in the room was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, throwing the face of his interrogator into shadow.

“It’s been weeks, dear. I thought we were past the theatrics.”

The woman stepped into the light but ignored his comments. Silently, she pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. Cigarette dangling from her lips, she clicked the lighter, watching the fire bloom in the end of the stick.

She closed her eyes and took a deep drag, then leaned forward and blew the smoke directly into Owen’s face.

The taste of smoke entered his lungs, and despite himself, he started coughing.

She stood back, a satisfied look on her face.

“How are the withdrawals?”

He squinted up at her, trying to settle the shakiness that was edging at the tips of his fingers. He hadn’t had a cigarette in weeks, and the lack of nicotine was driving him off the walls.

“I’ve had worse,” he said.

She blew another circle of smoke at him, and this time, he resisted the urge to cough and let the acrid air permeate his lungs.

Truth be told, he could handle the withdrawals. It was Curt he couldn’t stand being without. He was supposed to have been extracted weeks ago. He and Curt had planned to meet in Luxembourg before their next missions.

But here he was.

“Sure you don’t want one?”

He eyed her warily. She pulled another stick from the package and leaned into him, placing her hand on his thigh, and placing a cigarette between his lips. He closed his eyes. God, he wanted so badly to spit it out, but the promise of relief, the nicotine so close to his tongue kept him from refusing her offer.

“Look at me.”

He reluctantly opened his eyes, but stared defiantly at the far wall, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“I said _look at me_ ,” she hissed, grabbing his jaw and forcing his face towards hers. In the struggle, the cigarette slipped from his lips and fell to the floor.

“Oh, what a pity.” she said, sarcasm dripping from each word. She reached down and picked it up. Half of it was coated in nasty brown residue.

“It got a tad bit dirty on the way down, but a little bit of yesterday’s blood won’t hurt you.”

Owen grunted as she shoved it in his mouth and held the lighter up to his face. The flame danced in front of his eyes. This time, he looked at her.

“Good,” she crooned. “Such beautiful brown eyes. Maybe that’s what we’ll get rid of next.”

Owen gulped, every fiber of his being screaming with indignation, but utterly helpless.

She lowered the flame to the cigarette, and he took a long drag before she could decide to pull it away. The rush filled his head and he blew the smoke out of his nose.

To his surprise, she merely smiled. She stepped back, just watching him. It was humiliating, how badly he needed this smoke, and she knew it.

He sucked in again, feeling his muscles start to relax, though his lungs burned. God, the last cigarette he’d had, he’d shared with Curt. He could practically taste the remnants of their kiss in the smoke.

Her radio suddenly crackled to life, and there was a second of loud static punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, before the line went dead again. She cursed, taking a long drag of her cigarette before pulling the gun from her holster.

Owen froze as she stepped towards him and raised her gun. For a second, their eyes met, and all he could think was that this was the end. _I’m going to die without ever seeing Curt again_.

She raised her hand and plucked the cigarette from her lips, then smashed the smoldering end of it into Curt’s neck.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry out, but that last relief, that last cigarette between his lips was all that was keeping him sane, and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and stifle a moan.

When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

Within minutes, the cigarette was gone, and he spit the butt out as far away from himself as possible. He watched the embers slowly fade, until there was just the orange paper remnant lying amongst the other filth and garbage that coated the floor.

He sat there, chained to a chair that was chained to the floor, for what felt like hours. He could hear echoes of a fight ensuing upstairs, and several large crashes that shook the building, as though a tank had smashed through the walls.

Trained as he was, the cuffs they had used were too tight to slip out of, and he didn’t have anything to pick them with.

He heard heavy footsteps coming towards the room he was in, and he turned his head, trying to eye the door. He didn’t dare dream it was someone come to rescue him, and not another slimy thug sent to dispatch of the evidence.

When a bearded man barged through the door, gun raised, Owen’s stomach dropped.

“I’m far too young to die,” he murmured.

Seeing him, the man’s gaze softened. “You’re far too _beautiful_ to die,” he corrected him.

He could have sworn his heart melted right there and then.

“Curt?”

“Yeah, Owe, it’s me.”

Curt knelt and started undoing his handcuffs. Owen couldn’t help a tear that slid from his eye and slipped down his throat, stinging the burn mark that had been left by his captor’s cigarette.

Curt freed his hands and looked up at his face. “Oh, love. What did they do to you?”

He didn’t have an answer. The state of the interrogation room spoke for itself.

Curt slipped an arm around his torso, and lifted him, bridal style. He carried him out of the room and up the stairs, all the way to a waiting chopper.

Inside, Curt took off his coat and draped it around Owen, who clutched it around himself like a protective shield as they rose up, above the compound, above the fields and the forests and the world. Curt offered him a bottle of water, and he grabbed it thankfully, taking a long sip and licking his cracked lips when he was done.

Exhausted, he leaned into Curt, who draped his arm around him.

“It’s ok. I’ve got you,” Curt said, drawing slow circles across his back with his fingers.

Owen clenched his eyes and smiled. Cigarettes were nothing compared to this high.

“You’re worse than nicotine, you know that?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he said, reaching out and squeezing Curt’s free hand. “I just missed you.”

**Author's Note:**

> would you guys like to see more Curtwen inspired by Panic songs?


End file.
